Sunday, 24 September 2023

Three Poems by Patricia Walsh




Fearless Praying

 

Given fearless praying, inveigling damnation

The waylaid youth, shot at the prime

Photographic incidence an illiterate design

Careful to cheating karma, mediocre to a point

Rocking spirits out of a dying breed.

 

Another evolution on a singular bone,

Divested of these formal theatre perhaps

The toxic sobriety grants the token home,

Upwards accommodation in irony decreased

Splurging on a sleeping beauty, granted.

 

Looked at, for sex, pitching rank stupidity

Searching for the domicile god-sent

Grasping the times, killing a lot of people

Opportune remorse, a divorce settles matters

Gone with the wind-up, falling on swords.

 

Decisions over spirits, heavy ghosts abide

Watering the plughole on a sundry playlist

The defunct costume was bought on a prayer.

 

The best is to trust God, dissuaded on the simple

Mirror image of a stuck coffee overloading

Some fearless disorder carries it's bag,

Eating on the main, the cold unwanted deceits

Throwing out the crabby demeanour, unloved.


 


Acquired Tattoo

 

Glad you're not here, an advertised failure

Chattels burned indiscriminately, followed through

The hospitalised source of all that is good,

Walking exhibition on a road to perdition.

 

Finding a niche, evaporating a cold story,

Youthful arrogance a seat in its prime

The etching is real, through the soft prism

Kicking-out time a release from insanity.

 

The disturbed footage fetched from time

Coming closer and held, watched from nearby

Dissenting birthdays honoured by the nod

Free lunches sleeping with the just, perhaps.

 

Profiteering on a cute design, as advertised

Painted in the dark so you don't get lost

The bespoke recriminations over the bottom

Pegs in holes immeasurating, knowing the outcome.

 

The bockety treasure cordoned off, over time

The dry cold fixating on the adventurous burn

Easy life lived through the comfort zone

Death has lived, nowhere in the middle.

 

The uncommon catchcry deflates millions

More sense than some, badness to a flame,

Stealing home, as now as if, wholly irrelevant

Psychotic dance moves flounder in unison.


 

 

Trip Switch

 

Not much like bravado, the universe stalled

Happened on preferred energy a shortfall 

The under complicated mess brushed off completely

The firehearted red beckons on cued ridicule

The afterthought birthday weeps a populous askance.

 

Needed like a hole in the head, or the biggest fan,

Christ-like arrival catechesis on a true folly,

Fearing the general ides for a good and proper reason

Shrinking in company is a reward for presence.

 

Publicated to demise, on a starter's salary,

Rubbished to the vainglorious, a good free and,

Connected to a fault, the attentive annoyance

Wishing for the simpler cloths of heaven, I see

Fitting obsolete purposes like a discarded wrapper.

 

The parallel omniverse stalls on its chances

Wasted over decisively, watched out and quickly

The complicated birthstone solving the whim

Cleaned out of dependency in a hallowed art.

 

Out of action too soon, the brash and dutiful,

What cannot be named axed the initial shock

Points to uphold what can't be released

Something for something not least a contraceptive

The disembodied radio hums its premature farewell.





Patricia Walsh was born and raised in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork, Ireland.  To date, she has published one novel, titled The Quest for Lost Eire, in 2014, and has published one collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors, with Lapwing Publications in 2010. She has since been published in a variety of print and online journals across Ireland, The UK, USA, and Canada.  She has also published another novel, In The Days of Ford Cortina, in August 2021.

  

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